


Diurnal Course

by TheRODster



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Drift is a minor "Outlier" in this, Eventual Romance, Fix-It of Sorts, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Slow Burn, issues related to "Outlier" abilities, picks up after MTME #55, will reference certain events and locations from The Transformers: Lost Light
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-26
Updated: 2020-05-26
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:35:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24392149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheRODster/pseuds/TheRODster
Summary: Set after the nightmare that was the events of Necroworld and Mederi station, Rodimus and company finally find themselves back on track in their quest for the Knights of Cybertron. After learning that the Knights didn't find Cyberutopia on Mederi, our crew now sets off on the next leg of their journey. There is still much left to blaze on this cosmic trail as they follow a new path and a new map to the Knights. It will become a journey of healing and growth, something many on board had been seeking to begin with.
Relationships: Drift | Deadlock/Rodimus | Rodimus Prime
Comments: 2
Kudos: 18





	Diurnal Course

**Author's Note:**

> So, hey all!! This is my third fic I'm posting to AO3!
> 
> Just for a little explanation: this fic is very canon divergent. It follows most of MTME up to the middle of #55 with the death of the DJD. Things split off from there with my own version of events as well as mixing in elements from the sequel comic Lost Light. Events such as retaking the Lost Light and finding Mederi are referenced, but they are different in this that Roddy and Co. never went to the Functionalist Universe.
> 
> I'm going to try and keep my version of events as straight as possible, so please bear with me! In th meantime, please enjoy the story and don't be afraid to comment if you'd like to!!

“So how long has Roddy been sick?”

Ratchet blinked, caught off guard by Drift’s seemingly innocent question. He looked up from the cards in his hand, brow creasing in confusion. Drift’s gaze was still focused on the five cards in his own grasp, fingers toying with a few loose chips on the table between them. The betting pile was minimal at the center of the tabletop, the two mechs not playing seriously. Ratchet kept staring until the rather amicable silence around them stretched on for a beat too long. Drift finally cast a glance upwards at the other mech and his face mirrored Ratchet’s confused look.

“Come again?”

“I said: how long has Roddy been sick?”

“How should I know? I’m not his attending physician.”

“ _Ratchet._ You’re still-”

“ _Former_ CMO, Drift. How many times do I have to tell you that?”

That got a reaction out of Drift as he leaned back into his seat, finials canted at an angle. Ratchet ignored it and tossed in a few more chips from his pile. Maybe that would get the other mech to actually continue their game instead of asking odd questions. Drift made a face in response, clutching indecisively at his own chips before tossing a few more into the center. This was something they did; getting together for a round of low stakes poker. Ratchet hadn’t expected the swordmech to keep the activity actually going once they rejoined the Lost Light. Engaging in some poor gambling had only meant to kill time on the long trip back. Ratchet made a rough noise in the back of his throat when he caught onto Drift’s scrutinizing gaze that was still on him and not on the cards between them.

“What do you want from me, huh? I told you he’s not my patient. That’s First Aid’s gambit,” Ratchet growled, toying with the edge of a card. He looked them over with barely a glance upwards. “Now, can we get back to our game?”

“You still work in the medbay, even if you aren’t the head of it.” Drift was clearly not going to let this go and Ratchet frowned when the white mech put his cards face down onto the table.

“You really think the kid would come to me if he had a medical issue?”

“I don’t see why he wouldn’t.”

“Well he hasn’t. So drop it. Besides, I’m surprised you’re even asking me. Isn’t he supposed to be your best friend or something? One would think he wouldn’t hesitate to tell you.”

“One would think.”

“Trouble in paradise?” Ratchet snorted, his field prickling slightly. He stared down at his cards now, sighing as he realized his comment gave off more bite than he intended.

“I don’t know what we are right now.”

The words were said with such a sobering tone that it made Ratchet forget about his possible winning hand as he looked up. Drift’s thoughts were clearly elsewhere now, slouched in his seat and focused on his servos. They squeezed together tensely before he rattled out a sluggish noise. He’d only been back a month. A single month. How much could they really fix in such a short time? Half of that had been scrambling to get the Lost Light back after the mutiny. Then Mederi. Drift shuddered for a moment. Thinking of that place made his plating crawl after what they all saw there. They were lucky enough to even get off that station. Drift reached up to rub a hand along the underside of his finial, a gesture betraying his composure.

Ratchet didn’t try to pry when Drift didn’t continue. All he knew was that there wouldn’t be much luck salvaging their game as he reached across the pile of chips and plucked the cards up off the table. He shuffled them for a few minutes, looking for something to occupy his hands as Drift finally came back from the brink of his thoughts. He looked apologetic, but Ratchet lifted a servo to stop him. The medic wasn’t going to make a big deal out of a forgotten game. He swept the chips off the table into a bag and laid those aside with the deck of cards. Before Drift could really protest, Ratchet pulled a cy-gar from his subspace. The short stub ignited easily and the medic took a long drag of it before he eyed Drift with a dry look.

“What’s this really about?” He grunted, getting comfortable in his chair.

“You’ll just laugh,” Drift said a little too quickly for Ratchet’s liking.

“Try me.”

“It’s…well, I saw the color of his aura and it’s got me worried”

“His _aura_?”

Drift frowned just as Ratchet expected. He sighed around another long drag and gestured for the white mech to keep going.

“I haven’t been able to really get a good look at him since we came back from the Necroworld, Ratchet. So much has been going on. He seemed fine back before the fight with the DJD.”

“What’s that got to do with an aura?”

“Auras can be a very tricky thing to read. It shines the brightest when someone is relaxed. Given everything’s that happened, Rodimus has constantly been moving. I only ever got glimpses and things seemed normal.”

Ratchet let the vapors curl slowly past his lips as he listened, scowling a bit as Drift launched into his explanation. He still wasn’t convinced auras were medically accurate, let alone being real. Having traveled half the cosmos with Drift inside a small vessel, however, made him just a little hesitant to be completely dismissive. He could at least accept that Drift spoke on the subject with complete conviction. Ratchet was rational enough to know that Drift believed in this kind of spiritual mumbo-jumbo enough to give anyone pause. He slung an arm over the back of his chair, still nursing the cy-gar while he waited. Despite how much he touted his knowledge on the subject, Ratchet had come to notice the air of secrecy Drift kept about the matter. Ratchet offhandedly wondered if it was a tenet of Spectralism to be so private about the discussion of auras. The medic was so lost in his thoughts that he tuned back in with a rapid blink when Drift’s hand slapped down onto the tabletop.

“It’s off-color. Like badly off-color.”

“What?”

“Roddy’s colors. They’ve changed! They used to be so vibrant; like streaks of sunlight…”

“You make auras sound romantic,” Ratchet pointed out, not missing the slight flush to Drift’s cheeks despite the bright red paint lining the undersides of his optics.

“That’s not…” Drift’s expression became pinched and he rubbed a hand over his face. “Forget it. My point still stands. His aura is off from what I remember. It’s splotchy now with gaps, like the yellow turned sour.”

“You sure you’re not just remembering it through rose-colored optics here, Drift? You missed quite a lot and everyone has been put through the wringer more times than I care to humor since then.”

Drift became more sullen at that fact, venting roughly as he leaned over the table with both servos covering his face. His finials twitched, agitated with the state of the ship and her crew. This place had been like a home to him once. His spark clenched when he recalled that he had given it over to Rodimus with the intention that it could be a home for them. He became aware of a tapping sound from beneath the table and Drift realized it was his own leg bouncing anxiously against the table leg. He could feel tension creeping up the back of his neck, finials stiff as he contemplated everything he’d learned about the Lost Light’s travels since coming back. He almost felt sick, toying with the same dark doubts he kept under wraps. He had been so sure of his visions before…

“I should go talk to him,” Drift said flatly, nipping that line of thinking in the bud before it spiraled.

“You sure that’s a good idea?” Ratchet intervened before the other mech could get up.

“Ratch, please? If you’re trying to talk me down-”

“ _All_ I am saying is that you’re walking a dangerous line here, Drift. You told me yourself about not wanting to fall back into old habits.”

“This is Rodimus we’re talking about. You make him sound like I’m relapsing.”

There was that defensive tone again and Ratchet could tell he was treading thin ice.

“He’s a bot with a long track record of hurting people and broken promises, Drift. Need I remind you that you got kicked off the ship because of him?”

“Now you’re just being unfair. That was _my_ choice!”

“He still let you take the fall!”

“Ratchet, I’ve been over this a thousand times with you. It was my choice. And yes, it hurt like hell when the only person who came to get me was _you._ ”

Drift regretted his choice of words almost immediately when Ratchet’ eyes narrowed subtly. They looked at each for another tense few seconds before Drift dropped his helm and muttered an apology. A puff of smoke was the only thing Ratchet answered with before the cy-gar was roughly sniffed out against the tabletop. Drift listened to the sting of the hot blaze against metal and he risked a glance upwards. Ratchet looked at war with himself, most likely trying to decide if he wanted call it a night after such a terse exchange. Drift was grateful when Ratchet stayed, but the anger buzzing through Ratchet’s field didn’t disappear entirely.

“I didn’t mean it like that…” Drift spoke up, trying to placate the medic.

“I know you didn’t, but damn if it doesn’t sting to hear it.”

“I’m not trying to act like a martyr, I promise. I care about his well-being. Just like yours.”

“Drift, Rodimus didn’t see what I pulled you out of. I’m only doubtful because of everything we went through. Why would you want to jeopardize that?”

“Because he was my friend, regardless of what we did to each other.”

“Is it healthy though?” Ratchet supplied, already seeing that Drift’s mind was made up.

“I don’t expect things to be the way they were. I don’t want that. I actually want this to be a fresh start; for the both of us if I can. Everything is going to be pretty raw for awhile, but I’m hopeful.”

Ratchet didn’t seem too pleased, but the angry concern wasn’t boiling over anymore. At the very least, maybe Drift could reassure him that he wasn’t going to go looking for himself in others. He didn’t need others to give him a purpose when he had finally settled on his own. Drift rubbed his chin thoughtfully, looking at what was left of their game night. He hadn’t meant for the conversation to get so heavy, but whatever was going on with Rodimus sat at the back of his processor like a lead weight. He had thought maybe Ratchet had noticed too, but now Drift was more concerned about the state of things than he had been before. Dipping his helm in one last apology, he stood from the table. He had a suspicion the captain of the Lost Light would still be up despite how late into the night cycle it was. This was something that he didn’t want to wait on, even if he had to drag the mech down for the medbay himself. Ratchet rolled his optics and stood as well, rounding the table and jabbing a finger into Drift’s chestplate.

“You’re a stubborn aft and you owe me a new cy-gar,” he gruffed, his field awash with unsaid things.

“I know, I know. Next stop, I’ll buy you a whole bundle,” Drift agreed, servos raised in surrender.

“And…if it means that much to you, I’ll give the kid a once-over if you can get him into my medbay for a check up.”

“Really?”

“I said ‘if.’ I don’t do house calls.”


End file.
